You’re finished with your search, so you head over to where she’s kneeling. When you have her lay down on the sidewalk to do your own sweep, an officer from another district interrupts.

“Officer, I’ve already searched her. So, get her out of here!”

All around you people are being loaded into vehicles. Still, you protest, “It’s protocol.”

“What? You...”

“Morgan, get moving,” Sergeant Wolf turns around and cuts in over the radio chatter.

Your head hurts and you can search her later. So, you usher her into your patrol car and head to PTMC.

You drive south, then east. Cutting through the city grid with a speed that’s only possible at 3 in the morning. The city is asleep except for the garbage collectors, the bread trucks and the solitary runners in neon bands. The cold air from the cracked window cools the left side of your face – dulling the throbbing pain from the bruise.

Your passenger doesn’t so much as sigh. You check the rearview mirror. She sits behind the safety partition perfectly upright, hands still cuffed in the back. Her face is a mask giving nothing away. She doesn’t even flinch when you take the pothole on Grand at full speed. She’s Hispanic, early thirties, short and small. She could appear fragile – if not for the way she holds your gaze in the rearview mirror.

You park the patrol car on the curb near the bay doors and step out. Wordlessly you open the rear door and motion for your passenger to swing her legs out. She complies. Not a single word, no complaint, just pivots on her butt and stands. It takes her a second to find her balance. Then those brown eyes are on yours again, like you’ve challenged her to a dare. You hold her gaze a second, before gesturing toward the bay doors. She walks ahead; her hands bound behind her by the flex cuffs.

Leading her by the arm you navigate the relatively quiet ED floor. The bright overhead lights have you blinking and the pain in your temple throbs. You reach the hub and address Charge Nurse Lena, “Morning Lena, I need this detainee checked over.” It takes you a second to mentally gather what else she needs to know. “We have no ID for her and she’s not talking. She hit an Officer over the head from behind and got tackled to the ground. Her head hit the floor, but she didn’t pass out.”

“North 7 is free. I’ll send you a doctor,” she answers after a quick check of the board, pointing to a room straight across from her.

“Thanks, Lena.”

Your usher your charge into the empty room and close the door. After putting a pair metal cuffs and the clipper on the exam bed, you secure her against the wall with one hand on the wrist closest to you.

“I’m going to switch out your cuffs now and search you. Don’t try anything stupid,” you inform her. Then you clip the zip ties and put the cuffs on her now free wrist.

There’s a short knock. Before you can respond, the door is opened and Jack comes in. You turn half towards him – about to ask him to wait outside for a moment.

“You told Lena it was only your detainee that needed a check. What happened? You just forgot you took one to the head?”

Silent lady uses the exact moment you were preparing to answer Jack and not paying attention to her. She elbows you in the sternum hard enough to knock you back a single step. You lose your grip on her wrist as the air is forced from your lungs.

“Fuck!”

When your head snaps back up – she’s turning around while drawing a small blade from under her bun.

“Security!” Jack yells through the still open door. But he doesn’t step back out.

She has not managed to turn around fully just yet. So, you leap forward throwing your weight against the shoulder closest to you. Your outer arm goes for the bicep of her knife arm hard. She tries to dodge you by going low and manages to kick hard against the inside of your knee. You let yourself fall on top of her with the momentum she created. There’s movement at the door and you’re hoping it’s backup. Even on the floor she’s pushing up her pelvis to free a leg from under you and gain some leverage.

But Jack has come over during your struggles and is sitting down on her calves. You huff in irritation, before focusing on getting her under control. When you shift your weight back, she tries to slash at the inside of the arm holding her bicep. The shallow knife cut sears – you knock her elbow hard to the ground. The knife clatters to the floor and heavy footsteps echo through the room as Armad from security rushes in.

Together you put the cuffs on her properly and finally do a thorough search. It turns up one more small blade in her right boot and set of small lockpicks in the other. There’s also a pill shaped plastic container falling down as you release her hair bun. Then you transfer her over to the bed. There you secure both her wrists to either side of the bed using your second set of cuffs. Armad takes up position by the door after she’s properly secured. Charge Nurse Lena and Dr. Shen arrive and Jack takes your arm, “Time to check you over, Officer.”

Before you can protest the turns to the other doctor, “Shen assess her and let me know what you find. In addition to her head and ribs, her right elbow now needs a look.” With that he leads you from the room. As you don’t want to make a scene in front of his colleagues you bite back your response. Shaking your head at his overbearing behaviour causes you to flinch at the sharp pain from the side of your head. Jack passes the obviously empty room 6 before ushering you into number 5 and closing the door behind the two of you.

You grab your radio and report: “Dispatch, David 12 at PTMC, North 7. One detainee, combative, multiple concealed weapons recovered. Primary officer temporarily out—need unit to maintain custody. Send additional for transport and advise supervisor.”

The response comes while Jack stares at you – a muscle in his jaw ticking: “David 12, copy. Units en route to PTMC North 7 for custody and transport. Supervisor notified. ETA three minutes.”

“They shouldn’t have sent you over here alone in the first place. You’re injured.”

“We didn’t have the time or manpower to spare. It was just a headbutt.”

“Which obviously hurt and can still cause a concussion. Sit down,” he motions to the bed.

You do – wanting to get this over with and get back to your case. As he runs his hands over your head carefully, you continue the argument, “Well, I’ll stay on desk duty when I get back then, doctor. But you need to stay in your lane next time. Or someone will get hurt – again.”

“Stay in my lane?” the disbelief is all over his face and in his tone.

“Yes, as in don’t enter a room with a detainee inside before getting the all clear. As in stay out of a physical altercation between a trained officer and an armed suspect. Better yet leave the room and get...,” you are interrupted as Jack shines his penlight into your eyes.

“I called for security.”

“Jack! That’s not the point.”

“You do have a mild concussion,” he states, “and you can’t expect me to stand by when you’re getting hurt. Now, let me see your arm.”

Taking a breath, you remind him, “Getting hurt comes with the job on occasion.” As you shed your uniform jacket, Jack helps you by pulling the arms down.

“Then you’re gonna have to do a better job at avoiding those occasions. And live with me having my way with you, when you can’t,” he replies, while you place your injured arm on the table he’s rolled over. Before you can loosen the cuffs on your uniform shirt, Jack does it for you and cuts the shirt off, above the elbow. You’re gonna need to order a new one.

“And you need to remember I’m an officer first while on duty – and your...what ever second,” you’re still trying to make your point.

He huffs, “I’ll try. And I think you mean partner. Or am I just your love interest?” He’s efficiently cleaned your wound in the meantime. Picking up a couple butterfly strips as he speaks.

“You are not just anything, Jack!” You want to punch him for derailing the argument. This is not the place though, so instead you add, “But I think we can agree on partner.”

“Lucky me then,” he smirks and bandages your arm.

You hop off the bed as soon as he’s done and turn towards the door.

“Hold on there. You know what to watch for with a concussion?” Jack holds your arm.

“Not my first one. And I’ll change the bandages after the shower tonight,” you shrug and look at him pointedly.

“You mean I’ll change them.”

“Jack, please. I need some processing time here. This case is far from over. And I’ll recover better at my own place.”

“Fine. I’ll come by with food at 8 then.”

“Seriously?” you shoot him a look, but he doesn’t budge. “Okay. See you then.”

He finally lets you get back to work.

All headers and dividers used in this series were created by me. Please don’t repost or reuse without permission.

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“I’m fine,” Jack protests, although he’s already shuffling over. If Cas wants to keep him safe from no apparent danger at all he’ll let him. It’s a bit too loud for an argument right now anyways.

The second time is a year later, when Jack knows that bullets can actually hurt him now and he also knows how to handle a gun on his own. He and Cas are getting dinner between tracking down a vamp nest; well, Jack gets dinner and Cas makes little marks on his map. Midway through slurping down his Oreo milkshake Jack sees Cas suddenly stand up, right shoulder shifting in a familiar stance and the edge of the blade pointing out from his fingertips. Then it disappears. Cas sits back down and picks up the red marker again like nothing happened.

“What was that?” Jack asks, leaning over for a napkin.

“An error on my part,” Cas mumbles. He pulls out another map from his bag and unfolds it loudly. “I thought I saw an angel.”

Jack picks up one of the last few fries on his plate and swishes it through the milkshake. He’s seen this combination on a Youtube video before and he’s always wanted to try it. “Aren’t they your family?”

Cas grunts and keeps on circling on the paper.

“So why were you going to stab them?”

He stops, putting the pen down. “Jack, I--I have to be careful around the other angels. They don’t think like me, and they don’t all…” his forehead creases like he’s thinking of a word “...have good intentions towards you.”

The sweetness of the milkshake and the saltiness of the fries actually tastes great together. But Cas’ words make the mouthful sit heavy in his stomach. “You would kill one of your brothers or sisters to protect me?”

Cas opts for a reassuring smile that is as good as a confirmation to Jack's suspicion. “It wasn’t an angel after all, so don’t worry about it.” He checks the time on his phone. “Do you want to order anything else? We’ve still got some time before the sun sets.”

The third time Jack doesn’t immediately realize what’s happening. But Cas does. The witch has already dodged the first round of bullets fired and now she screams something unintelligible and the guns fly out of their hands. Before Jack can pull out his angel blade the witches raises her palm. Cas grabs Jack’s arm at the same instant, spinning him around and arching his body over him as the incantation roars around their ears.

An eerie purple glow erupts all around them, like mist from a smoke machine. Jack squints through the fog to see Cas leaning over him, hands gripping his shoulders. Blood trickles from Cas’ lips and streams in rivulets down his cheeks from his eyes. “Jack,” he mumbles, ghosting a hand over Jack’s face and neck, as if checking for injuries. “Are you…okay? Safe?” The words gurgle in his throat and he nearly topples over.

“Cas? Cas!” Jack grabs him by the elbow and swings one of his arms over his shoulder. His hand comes away from Cas’ back covered in sticky red and he jolts back. “Cas? Cas, what should I do?”

“Jack…” Cas mumbles, pressing a finger to his chest. “Safe?” His eyes are swollen and bright with blood but he keeps looking over Jack with concern. “Safe,” he repeats endlessly, as if delirious.

The witch is still here; Jack can make out her shadow moving in the back. She seems to be scrambling to collect all her jars and parchments. Jack lowers Cas gently to the ground and crawls under the purple haze over to where the gun lays discarded on the floor. He moves back to beside Cas and digs in the trench coat pocket for another magazine of witch killing bullets. As the witch darts towards the door Jack raises the gun and exhales slowly, just like Dean taught him. He steadies his arm and squeezes the trigger twice.

As soon as her body hits the ground the purple haze dissipates and they’re left surrounded by nothing but the bleak peeling walls of the hovel they tracked the witch to. Jack abandons the gun immediately and rushes over to where Cas is slumped against the wall with half open eyes.

Cas blinks a few times as Jack fusses over him. The wounds in his back are gone now that the witch is dead and the spell broken. His cheeks are still stained with blood though. Jack runs into the kitchen and comes back with a wet towel.

“What happened?” Cas breathes shakily. He’s still sitting on the floor, glancing around with worry.